See the Rukh
by Claywind
Summary: Judal belongs to Al-Thamen. It is a fact and there is no escaping it. Yet, despite all of his most deeply rooted convictions, every time he is in that stupid king's presence, there is always a frail waver of hope in his chest, like a stifled voice murmuring in the darkest corner of his mind. Save me.
1. Save me

**Did you want to read something sad and angsty? There you go !**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any Magi characters (which is a good thing, because I'd probably kill most of them for the sake of drama), Judal, Sinbad, Aladdin, Ja'far and Yamraiha were created, written and drawn by Shinobu Ohtaka, and we are grateful that she did.

 **Rating:** M, for drama, gore, torture, dark themes and mild swearing

 **Warnings:** Torture ahead, folks! Read at your own discretion.

 **Chapter 1:** Save me

 _'Save me'_ Judal thought, aiming his wand at his enemy.

"You should listen to your generals more often, stupid king," he advised with a cruel smirk. "One of these days, this carelessness of yours is gonna get you killed."

The stupid king in question waved the threat aside with a confident grin and asked him once more to follow him to Sindria.

"Hell no!" Judal retorted with an overplayed tone of disgust.

For good measure, he shot a few icicles at the moron, but, of course, the stupid king dodged all of them. This was expected though, and Judal was mostly attacking for emphasis anyway.

With Sinbad, Judal's attacks were usually on a conversational level.

"As if I'd wanna work for a moron like _you_!" he added after a few minutes of the said moron just smiling like an over-confident idiot. "I'd rather cut off my own feet than let you order me around!"

 _Save me._

The stupid king shook his head, and Judal was both furious and ashamed to detect the pity in his eyes.

"I would not force you to do things you don't want," came the unfazed king's reply, "and you would be protected too."

"Ha!" Judal retorted with a forced laugh, "I'm a magi, idiot! I don't need protection!"

He extended his arms and ice magic rained everywhere in a forty meters radius. He then put his hand on his hips, an arrogant smirk stretching his lips as he looked down, his feat all the more obvious, since he was floating twenty meters above the now ice-covered ground.

Sinbad was unscathed, obviously. How he had dodged was a mystery but, again, Judal was not attacking seriously.

"I meant from Al-Thamen, and you knew that," the king answered. "They would never touch you again."

Judal's joyless laugh echoed between them and he raised his wand, preparing to strike again. Deep inside, he was screaming.

 _Save me._

"You really are a moron!" he bit out, his voice full of scorn. "I don't need your protection against the ones who make me strong!"

Sinbad raised a skeptical eyebrow:

"I don't think you realize how wrong what they're putting you through is."

Judal's eyes narrowed in anger. That royal idiot had _no idea_ what Al-Thamen was doing to him. Granted, most of the time, Judal himself was not informed of what was being done to him, but he could see the results and that was all that mattered.

"Like you'd know anything about that," he snorted derisively. "It's for my own good, and, like I said, they make me _strong_."

He attacked again, this time a lot more seriously. The stupid king just dodged, as if they were still in the conversational level of the battle, which was infuriating in its own right.

"I would not hurt you," Sinbad declared, "even for your own good."

He placed a hand over his heart in a solemn gesture and added: "I would never hurt someone who serves me."

The moron was looking at him with pleading eyes and, in this short moment, Judal was convinced that Sinbad was telling the truth. He would never hurt him. For a brief instant, trust flashed in his heart.

 _Save me._

The fallen magi clenched his fists.

"And I," he said, stressing the _'I'_ with a cynical expression, "would never serve someone who's such a huge moron!"

This time, he poured everything he had into his attack. He did not stop. He was not going to let Sinbad win yet another argument – or battle for that matter.

He belonged to Al-Thamen. There was no escaping it. It was a fact, and they had made sure that he would always be aware of it. Yet, despite all of his most deeply ingrained certitudes, every time he was in that stupid king's presence, there would always be this frail glint of hope – for what, he was not sure – like a stifled voice, murmuring in the darkest recess of his mind.

 _Save me_.

Ѻ

Judal was walking down the stone steps of the darkened staircase. He had been requested – ordered, rather – to descend to _the room_. The place certainly had a real name, but he had never cared enough to remember. Though, to be honest, he would have rather not called it at all.

The spiral staircase seemed to have no end and every step he took further in that dark abyss seemed to send one more chill up his spine.

Of course, there was no way that he would admit to being afraid. He was a dark magi, after all. A powerful magician of creation, fallen into depravity – or so they said – as he was loved by both the white and the black rukh.

Still, no matter how many times he had descended it, this never-ending spiral of cold steps always meant that he was about to experience pain; and that was hardly a pleasing prospect.

Nonetheless, Judal kept walking down the stairs, his bare feet slowly becoming numb from the contact with the cold stone.

When he finally reached the bottom, the soles of his feet were freezing, and he was very grumpy.

Two faceless minions were waiting for him. Their black robes and cloth-covered head made them look really stupid – but not as stupid as the stupid king. When he approached, they opened the golden metallic door that was behind them and Judal sighed.

They entered the Room and his sigh died in his throat.

The place was crowded with minions, all faceless, all cloaked in the same ample black and white robes and with the same thorn crown on their heads… They were at least a hundred. It was as if all Al-Thamen had gathered today.

This was going to be a major ritual, Judal realized, which meant that he was probably going to get stuck down here for a few days. His stomach growled and he sighed, annoyed. He should have thought about eating something before coming down here.

He was motioned to the center of the chamber where, he knew by now, laid an altar made of black stone. When he approached, he noticed the iron chains that had been added. It did not presage good news for him.

They only restrained him when the rituals exceeded his pain tolerance.

 _Fuck._

One of the minions pushed him in the back – just a small push, they would not have dared to actually hit him – and Judal stepped forward, stilling the slight trembling of his hands. The sooner they began, the sooner it would be over.

He lied down on the cold stone, cursing to himself for not bringing warmer clothes – or at least clothes that covered his back – and let them fasten the cuffs to his wrists and ankles.

He cursed in silence one more time when he realized that the iron handcuffs were meant to hold his _bare_ wrists, which meant that his bracelets – that he had forgotten to take off – were taking room that was not available. It was already mildly painful and, by the time they were done, it would probably hurt like hell.

He knew, however, that asking to be untied now would be useless, so he shut his mouth and waited for them to begin.

After repositioning in a few neat concentric circles around the altar, the faceless began mumbling low monotonous incantations. Judal had never known if they did not enunciate because they wanted him to remain ignorant of the process and purpose of the rituals they were performing on him, or if it was because the incantations were just that boring to chant.

Tense, he focused his attention on the movements of the rukh in his body. At first, he did not feel anything weird, except for a slight buzzing sensation coursing through his stomach, and he began to believe that this might not be too horrible.

After a few minutes of the creepy humming inside his stomach, he noticed that black rukh was slowly concentrating on top of him. He looked around as well as he could from his lying position – at least the altar was somewhat raised – and noticed how the rukh was converging from the chanting minions to form a dark sizzling sphere above him. It was getting bigger and bigger with every second and, suddenly, it began to descend towards him. He stared at the ominous sphere with curiosity. Were they going to inject his body with black rukh?

Maybe this ritual would not be so bad after all.

When the sphere touched his bare stomach, he shifted in his chains. It was not really painful, but it was definitely uncomfortable. Still, he thought, this was largely under the brink of his resistance.

Perhaps they had decided to restrain him on every ritual? He did not really like the idea, but if it meant that this one was not going to be as horrible as he had anticipated, he was actually kind of glad; especially since he could feel his new power merging with his bones. The black rukh tingled within his limbs and he relaxed on the cold altar.

A second black sphere was created and, like the first one, descended into his stomach. This time, the unease was deeper, but it was still not painful. Perhaps a bit nauseating. It did not matter, though. He could feel himself growing stronger. He smiled.

This was going to be a blast.

Ѻ

This was not a blast.

Judal was gritting his teeth as yet another globe of blackness forced its way into his body. A few hours had passed, with the same procedure going on in a dull and endless repetition. Judal had very quickly realized that each new sphere would be more uncomfortable than the one before.

Now, the regular waves of black rukh had become mildly painful and Judal would have rather not realized this, because he could not – did not want to – imagine what it was going to be in another few hours. Between two nauseating spheres, he shuddered at the idea that this ritual would probably go on for days.

Of course, the black rukh stored within him would prevent him from dying of hunger, but it did not mean that it would be pleasant. The ache was rapidly nearing the point where gaining more power became less important than his well-being, but he still had some space left for more black rukh. And, in the end, he would become more powerful, so it was all for a good cause.

He clenched his jaws – he had once bitten his tongue and was decided not to do it again – and gripped the cold edges of the altar.

Like every other time, he would endure.

Ѻ

This was not a blast _at all_.

Two days had passed, and the ritual had not stopped. Not even wondering how his torturers could keep it up without eating or sleeping, Judal had suffered the first day draped in a silent dignity. However, when dawn had come – or what he thought was dawn, there was no way to know in the underground room – he found his resolve shattering.

Now, Judal was screaming at them to stop, writhing in his chains, trying to escape the new black sphere that descended onto him. When he failed again – and when the rukh forced its way inside his body – he wailed for what felt like the hundredth time. Each new wave was a torture, seemingly pushing away his innards. His skin gave him the impression it was going to crack.

How could he contain so much rukh without exploding?

Another sphere crushed his body and he howled until his voice broke. Pain was not new to him, but today, for the first time, he was afraid that the ritual would actually kill him.

 _'They would never touch you again.'_

The voice had risen in his mind and Judal closed his eyes, trying to ignore that his body was being burned by acid from the inside out.

 _'I meant from Al Thamen,'_ the familiar voice resonated once more. _'They would never touch you again.'_

His wrists felt like they were being chewed and Judal tried to prevent himself from remembering where he had heard those words. He somehow knew that it would only bring more, and he had other things on his mind right now.

 _'I would not hurt you, even for your own good,'_ insisted the voice, its tone so gentle that it was almost foreign to Judal's knowledge.

The image of Sinbad formed over his shut eyelids. The stupid king was looking straight at him, his golden irises filled with ridiculous concern.

 _'Let me protect you,'_ said the vision, offering him a hand. _'You could become Sindria's magi. You could be safe.'_

Another black sphere forced its way inside his stomach and Judal's eyes snapped open, dissolving the vision in a haze of blackness. The room was really dark, he realized. Too dark. Was night falling? Maybe his vision was being blurred by all the black rukh mashed inside of him. The dark butterflies could have been pushed into his eyes by now and that was why he could see them dancing in painfully throbbing whirls.

He was hallucinating. Great.

 _'I would never hurt you,'_ Sinbad's voice said again, enticing him to dive back into the dream. _'You would be protected…'_

"Liar," Judal whispered at the illusion. His mind seemed to shatter as yet another wave of pain brutally sliced through him.

He screamed, hoping he would eventually lose consciousness from the pain.

He did not.

Ѻ

Swords clashed against swords in a deafening cacophony. Men shouted, some of them falling from a wound, some dying, some others already dead amidst the bloody confusion that had submerged Kou's imperial palace. At the center of the chaos, Hakuryuu was fighting with all his strength.

The Seven Sea Alliance had attacked Kou; or, more specifically, Sindria, Imuchakk and Artemyra's forces. Most of the palace guards had been taken entirely by surprise at the unexpected attack and were getting overwhelmed by the – though less numerous – highly skilled fighters, most notably five of Sinbad's Eight Generals.

However, it was not the foreign warriors that Hakuryuu was fighting.

Using the power of Zagan, the young prince forced deeply buried roots and vines to erupt out of the ground and motioned them at an alarming speed in the direction of the Kou soldiers. Ignoring their shouts – most of them accusing him of treason – he restrained their movements until they could no longer move. These men were loyal to the Kou Empire and he did not want to take their lives. They were not his real targets.

Hakuryuu looked around him, searching for dark robes and black staves but there was no member of Al-Thamen around and he turned back to another group of soldiers running in his direction. As much as he would have preferred to be with the main force to help with the real purpose of the raid, he knew he was requested here. The simple soldiers did not deserve to die and Zagan's power was extremely suited for restraining without hurting. It was the reason Sinbad had asked him to go to the front lines while the main force would kill Al-Thamen without him.

He hated the fact that he would not be able to exact his vengeance on Gyokuen, but he knew a good plan when he saw one.

And the plan demanded that he remained out of the most important fight.

Ѻ

It had been a week. Maybe more. Not that Judal was in any condition to confirm. Lost in a black mist, he vaguely noticed, at one point, that the number of the faceless minions had been reduced to a half.

A blurred movement caught his attention and he glimpsed two silhouettes leaving the circle in a hurry. Another sphere of black rukh crashed into his body and one more time his limbs were mashed with hot iron. The scream died in his throat before he could even articulate it. There was no strength left in him to beg them to stop.

He had no idea how he could endure this.

He closed his eyes – or were they opened? – begging once more the illusions to free him from the pain.

 _'I would never hurt you'_ Sinbad's voice immediately murmured in his mind.

Judal's body twisted and he distantly wondered how he could not have broken any limbs yet. Perhaps he had. Perhaps he could just not feel the snapped bones or the torn muscles through the rukh's torture.

Somewhere in his mind, a weak voice was pleading.

 _Save me._

Ѻ

"Ja'far?" Sinbad asked anxiously. "Have you found it?"

"If I had, you'd be the first to know," his advisor grumbled with exasperation and Sinbad went back to his search.

They had been inspecting this specific section of the palace for more than half an hour now, and had yet to find any clue as to the presence of the secret passage Kouen had mentioned. A slight tremor shook the ground – probably due to Masrur's attacks outside – and Ja'far looked helplessly at the finely decorated walls. The maps supplied by Kouen were precise but, as the first prince had explained, he did not know where the passage was. Only that it was around here.

They had inspected everything Ja'far's ex-assassin's mind could think of – walls, carpets, floor and even ceilings – for an opening mechanism and they had yet to make any progress. The fact that Sinbad was pacing back and forth between the two connected rooms did not help his advisor to concentrate. Ja'far knew his king was frustrated. It was not that hard to guess – hell, he was frustrated too – with the full-on battle raging outside and Sinbad being stuck here on this vital part of the plan.

At least, it was what Kouen had implied when he had advised that it should be the legendary dungeon capturer that went down to what he had guessed to be Al-Thamen's ritual chamber.

Kou's first prince and Sindria's king had been communicating secretly for a few months now.

When Hakuryuu had come to Sindria, searching for an ally in his vendetta against Al-Thamen's leader, Sinbad and Kouen had decided to put the young prince in the confidence. They were going to need all the help they could gather and Hakuryuu – if handled carefully – could become a formidable ally. The young prince had gleefully accepted to join them and, on Sinbad's advice, had requested to accompany the group he had sent to conquer Zagan's dungeon. Of course, Hakuryuu had been asked to act as if it was his own idea and decision. There were spies everywhere and secrecy was too important to be risked. Sinbad's plans had been rewarded when their new ally had ended up with a strong – and extremely useful – djinn vessel.

The raid on the palace was not supposed to happen before Sinbad could assemble the whole Seven Seas Alliance, but the last of Kouen's messages had requested they acted sooner. The crown prince had apparently stumbled on a crucial bit of information and it had been enough to put their plan in motion.

Al-Thamen was going to conduct an important dark ritual and the whole organization would be gathered in a single location for a few days. This was too good to ask for.

They could not allow such an opportunity to be wasted.

The problem, however, was that they had been searching for an untraceable pathway downstairs for half an hour now.

"That is enough," Sinbad suddenly declared, drawing his sword. " _Bararaq_!"

Ja'far only had the time to close his eyes as a blinding flash of lightning erupted from the blade.

The ground shook violently and, when the dust settled down, Ja'far could see the giant hole that had been torn open in the floor. He stared at Sinbad, too shocked to form words. Had his king any idea how hard this wanton destruction would be to explain?

Oblivious to his advisor's reproachful look, Sinbad fully equipped his djinn and jumped down the dark hole.

Ja'far swiftly readied his knives and called out Yamraiha who had been searching for magical wards in a different set of rooms.

Together, they followed their king.

Ѻ

They had found Al-Thamen.

Yamraiha brought her staff down in a twirling motion, shifting the patterns of the rukh around her, forcing the water to swirl and bend, the pressure and speed turning the innocuous liquid into a deadly weapon. Ja'far's knives crackled with electricity, dancing around them in a spinning motion.

They had found Al-Thamen, Yamraiha thought, or Al-Thamen was not bothering to hide anymore, which was already a more worrying prospect. Her mind raced, considering what that could imply, as she and Ja'far were fighting their way down the stairs, trying to follow their king's pace.

The thundering sounds soon reached their ears and, a few dozen steps lower, they saw the bright flashes of Sinbad's lightning reflected on the polished stone walls. Readying her staff once more, Yamraiha jumped into the fray, using her water magic to slice through Al-Thamen's minions.

Why were they not hiding anymore?

Every time she brought one of them down, she could see their black rukh leaving their body and, instead of dissipating like any dying person's rukh, the black butterflies retreated further down the stairs, as if attracted by some inaudible call. She frowned in worry.

Just what the hell was really going on?

Ѻ

Pain.

There was no more respite between each wave. The rukh crashed within him in a never-ending stream, breaking and burning everything in its path.

Darkness.

Everywhere he looked, the world had been engulfed in a thick blanket of blackness. It blurred everything and dulled his perceptions to nothing.

Fear.

He was drawing close to a limit. He knew that, when he reached that edge, there would be no going back. He would die miserably, alone and helpless.

 _'Save me'_ he tried to call and could not tell if he had actually formed the words.

Reason told him that there would be no saving. Nothing would stop the pain. The frail part of his mind that had kept murmuring throughout the ordeal was slowly weakening. Bit by bit, he was drowning in the darkness.

Hope was wavering, but not yet extinct.

Not yet.

Ѻ

Wave after wave, they crashed against him.

They did not seem to care for their lives, throwing themselves at his blade, seemingly begging to be reduced to ashes by the lightning of his djinn. It took Sinbad a moment to realize that their intention was to slow him down and, when he did, he gritted his teeth in anger. Accelerating his pace, he tried to unleash more strength in his blows without making the tunnel collapse.

Wave after wave, they crashed against him and, wave after wave, he would destroy them all.

The slaughter continued for a while, until he reached the bottom of the stairs. A swarm of his faceless opponents seemed to be waiting for him there. As they sent a combined attack at him, he glimpsed the shape of a gigantic metallic door behind them.

 _So… they're guarding this place…_

He raised his sword in a defensive gesture, forcing the lighting to cut through their debased magic. It tore through their ranks as if they were nothing but a sheet of paper. When it clashed with the golden door, the metal yielded under the pressure. The smell of heated iron filled the air and the two panels thundered to the ground.

Sinbad strode towards the red-hot remnants of the door, sword clenched tight in his hand.

Ѻ

The flow of black rukh increased again and Judal jerked helplessly in his chains, unable to control his own limbs. He could not feel the limits of his body anymore. There was just pain. His back twisted into yet another improbable position.

He felt something snap.

Ѻ

The room was darkened by black rukh, so much that it had become visible to non-magician eyes, but Sinbad did not pay any attention to it. The white veils of Al-Thamen's last members occupied his whole field of vision. Behind them, he caught glimpse of an altar where the rukh was crashing down in the form of a small dark tornado. Whatever they were doing, it seemed he had arrived before they were finished. Just in time to stop them.

For what he knew would be the last time, he raised his sword, the attack already charged.

" _Bararaq saiqa._ "

Ѻ

Light filled the room.

Agonizing heat.

The pain blurred to blackness.

Ѻ

Sinbad contemplated the charred corpses. None had escaped, it seemed. Slowly, reluctantly, he sheathed his blade.

It was over.

A barely audible wheeze caught his attention and he turned in the direction it had come. He narrowed his eyes in the thick darkness that had engulfed the room after his attack. Raising once more his lightning-covered sword as a torch, he approached.

When he had climbed the small stairs that lead to the altar he froze, his mind refusing to admit what had been revealed to his eyes.

Because the shackled, bloodied, broken human in front of him could not be Judal.

Slowly, with a shaking hand, Sinbad pressed two fingers to the side of the magi's neck. He felt a frail pulse waver under the skin and he wanted to sigh in relief… but he did not know if he _should_ be relieved that Judal was still alive, because he was obviously in so much pain…

Chasing the hesitation from his mind, he moved to the iron handcuffs binding the magi's ankles and tried to pry them open. They broke under his fingers and Sinbad could only imagine what quantity of magoi had needed to go through the metal to weaken it like that. He glanced back at the magi's limp form.

How was he still alive?

Deciding that the question could wait, he focused back on the task at hand and went to free Judal's arms. When he put his fingers on the wet and sticky shackles, however, he had to bite his tongue to repress a curse.

The metal was covered with half-dried blood.

Raging inside, he broke the iron circles apart. There was a faint whimper of pain from the hurt magi and Sinbad cursed at himself for being too rough. More delicately, he brought the unmoving arms back to Judal's side. The golden bracelets that usually adorned his forearms were warped and spewing blood. When he looked more closely at the magi's oddly angled hands, Sinbad realized that both his wrists were broken. Then his attention wandered to Judal's face, blood and tears leaking from his half-closed eyes, and that was when the first real urge to puke forced him to avert his eyes.

"Sin!" Ja'far's voice called.

Sinbad glanced to the side, viewing his most trusted advisor running towards him, Yamraiha close on his heels.

Both of them stopped when they caught sight of Judal's wounded form. Cautiously, they approached and Ja'far's expert eye trailed along the motionless body:

"Is he…?"

"No," Sinbad cut him off sharply, "not yet. He's still alive. Barely." He turned to his magician. "Yam', is there any healing you can perform?"

She nodded and raised her staff over the magi's chest. She stayed silent for a few seconds, her face furrowing in concentration that slowly turned to surprise and frustration.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"I don't understand," she answered. "The rukh isn't listening to me. It's like it doesn't want to heal him."

Sinbad froze.

"What."

"It just…the rukh… it refuses to come close to him… I… I don't know why. This has never happened before…"

"But he's a magi," Ja'far interrupted, "shouldn't be loved by the rukh? Aladdin-…"

"I never had any problem of the sort with Aladdin."

"Maybe it's because he's fallen into depravity," Ja'far proposed. "He uses black rukh, so your white…"

"No," she interrupted. "A magi is loved by all of the rukh, this is not _normal_ , this is…"

"They were conducting a ritual, maybe that's why…"

Sinbad was staring at Judal, his generals' conversation blurring in the background. He was looking at the motionless body, at the broken bones, protruding from under the pale skin, the dark red lines of dried blood and cleared streaks – _tears_ – that colored his cheeks.

Not even two weeks ago, they had been sparring. Judal had been flying around, taunting him, laughing at him.

Somehow, he felt responsible for this.

"Sin?" Ja'far's voice brought him back to the present. "What do we do with him?"

"We…" He trailed off as he studied the wounds. "Yam, do you think it's safe to move him?"

"I'm not sure," his magician answered. "The rukh won't let me get an idea of his current state. I'm sorry."

Sinbad thanked her with a short nod and turned to his advisor.

"Ja'far? Your opinion?"

The ex-assassin knew a few things about surviving torture.

"Kill him."

Sinbad sighed.

"Your opinion on how to _help_ him." Ja'far gave him a disapproving look and he added with an undertone of irritation: "You _know_ I'm not going to abandon someone, anyone, in a situation like that. So, _please_ , give me your professional advice."

Ja'far sighed.

"If he's not dead yet, then he's fighting to survive. Staying here will not help him, he'll only get worse. Check his neck for broken bones and if there's nothing, carry him out of here."

The king nodded and sheathed his sword to cautiously feel around Judal's neck. Yamraiha immediately created a handful of blue, glowing spheres, visibly relieved to be a bit more useful to the current situation.

Slowly, delicately, Sinbad slid an arm under Judal's knees and another behind his shoulders. He raised him up with all the gentleness he could muster, barely suppressing the spewing rage that was boiling within him.

How could anyone, even Al-Thamen, hurt one of their own like that?

In his arms, the broken form shivered weakly.

"Sin…bad…?" a torn voice croaked.

Hearing the pain in Judal's voice somehow made it more real. He clenched his jaw and glared angrily at the charred corpses of Al-Thamen's last members.

"Yes, it's me," he answered in a comforting tone. "It's over, you'll be fine, now. I promise."

His words felt empty, but he kept murmuring meaningless reassurances nonetheless.

"It's over, you're safe. You're… you're safe, now."

Judal's breath hitched but it was the only proof that the magi had heard him.

"S-save," Judal mumbled incoherently, "…me …save… s-save me…"

Sinbad tightened his grip on the delirious magi, feeling a terrible hatred burning in his chest.

"I will," he promised.

Ѻ

 **The story has been sitting in my back drawer for 3 years, almost complete save the last chapter. It's actually the first fanfic I started to write for the Magi fandom.**

 **It's... pretty dark.**

 **It's also the only fic that has been reviewed by a competent beta - BloodRaevynn, you're amazing ! - who taught me a lot about writing in English.**

 **I'll post one chapter every day, hopefully, by then, I'll have finished the story.**

 **Hope you'll enjoy (and don't hesitate to comment) !**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Claywind**


	2. Take me

**Magi was written and drawn by Shinobu Ohtaka, not me !**

 **And thanks to the wonderful BloodRaevynn, without whom this story would have some weird plot holes hanging around.**

 **Chapter 2:** Take me

Sinbad walked out of the tunnel, Judal's broken form still cradled in his arms. Flanked by Ja'far to his right and Yamraiha to his left, he left the chambers they had been searching and directed his steps towards the nearest exit, somewhere to the south-west of the palace. Rakushun's port was located to the east of the city but he preferred to leave palace grounds before he ran into…

"That's my country's high priest you're trying to abduct."

…Kouen.

Sinbad politely turned in the direction of the crown prince (and soon to be emperor) and slightly bowed his head:

"Ah, Kouen, just the man I wanted to see," he lied. "Everything went according to plan. We've obliterated the enemy and, _as we planned_ ," he stressed the three words, "we'll be leaving now, if you don't mind."

They had come to the conclusion that once the raid had achieved its purpose, the Seven Seas Alliance should retreat immediately. Sinbad knew Kouen had insisted on it to ward against the possibility of his country being occupied by foreign forces. It had been irritating but now, Kouen's fear of having his imperial rights stripped from him served Sinbad, so he was not complaining.

"In fact," Kouen replied icily, "I do mind. I cannot allow you to seize my magi. Even for your services to Kou's crown, it's a price too high to demand."

Sinbad frowned at Kouen's blatant implication that Judal was his property, but he kept his calm.

"We had an agreement," he replied coolly. "Are you going back on your word?"

Kouen waved his hand dismissively:

"I agreed to you taking a few war spoils. Kou's magi is not part of the deal. He belongs to us. He's not leaving."

"I supplied the forces needed to bring down Al-Thamen," Sinbad countered, trying to get Kouen to feel indebted to him. "I'm the one who fought and I'm the one who killed them downstairs. You could not have handled them alone."

The crown prince's mask did not even flinch when he answered in a slightly purring tone:

"You have my gratitude."

 _But not my magi_ , the silence completed for him.

Sinbad sighed. He really should have seen this coming. Well… he was a merchant before becoming a king. Negotiations were clearly not his weakness.

 _Game on_ , he thought.

"Given his destructive tendencies," he started with a relaxed grin, "you're going to need to place him under strict surveillance." Kouen frowned slightly before regaining his composure, but Sinbad had seen it and his lips twitched. "With the current chaos Kou is in," he added, "you can't ask one of your dungeon capturers to keep him on check twenty-four hours a day."

"Kou has powerful fighters besides my siblings," Kouen countered, his expression cold and collected, which made Sinbad curse inwardly.

"Not as powerful as a bored, rampaging magi," he retorted with a smile too polite to be sincere. "We both know that."

They stared at each other before Sinbad added with a friendly – and carefully crafted – expression:

"I, however, have a lot of powerful fighters in Sindria. I'd be more than happy to release you from this charge…" Kouen's eyes flashed in anger at the insinuation that he was not up to the challenge and Sinbad expertly changed tactics: "If only for a while, it would be the wisest choice to leave him to my custody."

Kouen glared but answered nothing.

"Besides," added Sinbad, "he's wounded. He won't be very useful, to you or me, for the next several weeks. And he'll get the best healers and magic experts in Sindria."

"He can have them here," Kouen declared frostily.

Sinbad dissected him with careful eyes:

"I _do_ have some of the best healers in the world living in my country. And, contrarily to yours, they won't have much on their schedule, so Judal will get their full undivided attention." Sinbad argued, using the magi's name in the conversation for the first time – he had noticed Kouen was avoiding it; just like he was avoiding looking directly at the broken body still in his arms.

Sinbad expected that the concrete, gory reality of the wounded magi might sway – at least partially – Kouen's opinion in his favor. With a concerned expression, he added: "Even if Hakuryuu did his best, there were undoubtedly casualties and your healers are going to be exhausted. Do you really want to add such a burden to their workload? Your soldiers would be the ones to suffer from it. Spare your healers and leave Judal to be someone else's burden… That's what any decent leader would do."

Kouen dismissed Sinbad's barely hidden reproach with a cold glare.

"Our healers are sufficiently competent to deal with the situation. It's not your job to cure him."

Sinbad sighed, and all trace of casualness left his voice.

"Perhaps I did not make myself clear," the king replied, his eyes suddenly very cold. "Judal comes with me. That is non-negotiable."

The silence stretched uncomfortably, until Sinbad began to think that maybe he had gone too far. To his surprise, Kouen eventually backed down:

"Fine," the crown prince spat. "He can be healed in your country. But I'll be expecting him back."

Sinbad nodded vaguely.

"If Judal wishes to go back to you, I will not oppose him."

But if the magi wanted to stay in Sindria… well, that was another matter entirely.

Ѻ

Sindria's sun warmed the room's floor. Where the most adventurous rays crossed the thick bronze and red carpets to touch the walls, painted a soft, tarnished yellow hue, the pale color glowed like burning gold. A few pieces of furniture were gathered near the door and some giant cushions had been stacked up under one of the large two windows. In a corner of the quiet chamber, protected from the hottest rays of the sun, was a comfortable bed with cream colored sheets.

Judal was sleeping there.

His bracelets and necklace had been taken off – and placed neatly on a small table near the head of the bed – as well as had the clothes that covered his torso. His hair had been unbraided and was spilling across the side of the mattress, so that he would not tug on it in his sleep. From the look of the sheets and his hair, though, it was apparent that he had not moved at all.

The quiet of the room was disturbed by muffled sounds coming from behind the door. Three voices spoke quietly in turn before the panel opened on the middle of a sentence:

"…smaller dose this morning," said a blue-haired woman with two golden seashells in her hair.

Sindria's first magician entered the quiet room, followed silently by Sindria's first advisor and Sindria's first… well… king.

Said king observed the heavily sleeping magi.

"You're sure of your timing?" he asked with audible skepticism.

Yamraiha crossed her arms with an annoyed expression, that said she could probably predict the exact second at which the sleep potion would cease its effect.

"Yes. I am," she replied quite icily before adding in a softer tone. "He's going to stir in a few minutes.

"Good," Sinbad gestured vaguely in the direction of the door. "Now, as I've already asked, could you two _please_ go back to your respective work?"

"Are you sure you don't want any of us around?" Ja'far asked for the hundredth time with a concerned tone.

His advisor was referring to the rest of the Eight Generals who had been sent on different trivial missions out of the palace to make sure they would not interfere. Sinbad shook his head, his attention focused on the sleeping magi.

"No, thank you. I think it'll be easier for him to adjust if there's only one person with him in the room. And I don't think he sees me as a threat. I don't want to scare him or make him believe he's some kind of prisoner."

Ja'far raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Even though he is?"

Sinbad shrugged and Ja'far marched on:

"You promised the Kou Empire that you'd be keeping an eye on him. You know, to make sure his 'destructive tendencies would be kept in check'? Or did you just say that to have him to yourself?"

The note of accusation did not pass unnoticed.

"He's a human being," Sinbad retorted, "not a thing Kou can possess. He belongs to no one but himself."

"And that's why no one but you can have him," Ja'far replied pointedly. "I knew that Aladdin turning you down had bothered you, but I didn't think you'd go so far as stealing Kou's magi."

Sinbad groaned, shaking his head.

"I did not steal him! He's…"

Ja'far raised his second eyebrow and he sighed.

"As I said, he's not my prisoner. When he's healed, I won't stop him from leaving, if that's what he wants. And, now that he's free from Al-Thamen, I would rather have our first conversation to be based on trust."

Ja'far and Yamraiha glanced at each other, disbelief clearly visible on their faces. Ja'far sighed and decided to do his job as the king's advisor and try to advise his king. Not that it ever worked.

"Have you forgotten what happened last time… _every time_ you've trusted him?"

Sinbad's eyes darted back to the sleeping magi. He mumbled something along the lines of 'I'll be fine, he's not going to attack me' and Ja'far's shoulders slumped.

"You say that every time…"

Sinbad flashed him his usual overconfident smile.

"You really think I can't handle myself against him?"

Ja'far sighed a third time and turned towards the door.

"Well, you'll do what you want, as usual, so go ahead," he stated in a jaded voice. "It's not like I can stop you, anyway. Don't come crying to me when he freezes the room or you or whatever…"

Sinbad flashed a bright smile to his departing advisor – a smile Ja'far did not see, but could somehow hear – and tried to reassure him the best he could:

"Thank you, Ja'far. I appreciate your concern for me, but it will be fine. Judal is not dangerous right now."

Ja'far left the room, repressing a fourth sigh and wondering how his king was able to put so much sincerity in his voice when he was probably lying. He heard a few words behind his back and Yamraiha walked past him, following their king's wish to be alone with the dark magi.

Somehow, Ja'far knew this was not a good idea.

Ѻ

Sinbad sat on the chair next to the bed, scrutinizing Judal's sleeping face attentively. He was still in the process of figuring out what he was going to tell the dark magi. He had been trying to figure it out since they had departed for Sindria and he was still not entirely sure of what to say. Judal would probably not be pleased to learn that he had been kept in an artificially induced sleep for the whole trip back to the island kingdom. Given the terrible state he was in when they had found him, Yamraiha had declared it unthinkable to let him do anything other than sleep.

Sinbad wanted to ask the magi a few questions about the purpose of the ritual, because it was clearly not in Al-Thamen's advantage to weaken one of their most potent weapons. Even if Al-Thamen was undoubtedly evil, they were not stupid. Had something gone wrong?

Before he could ponder more, however, the sleeping magi made a low mumbling sound, immediately gaining Sinbad's full attention. Judal's eyelids opened in a slow movement and he blinked lazily a few times. Then his eyes trailed over his surroundings, seemingly unfocused and Sinbad hesitated to make his presence known.

"Where…" breathed a tired voice.

"You're in Sindria," Sinbad informed him in his best non-threatening voice. "You're safe, now. Don't be afraid."

Judal turned his head in his direction and, as he did, an expression of pain flashed across his features. Sinbad frowned. The healers that had examined the magi had assured him that his wounds were well on the road to recovery. Moving his head slightly should not be painful. He made a mental note to ask them about it.

"I'm not afraid, stupid king," Judal eventually croaked.

His red eyes were confusedly searching the room for something Sinbad could not exactly determine. Perhaps it had to do with the rukh that only magi and magicians could see. After a few seconds of this, Judal just closed his eyes and wearily asked:

"What… happened?"

"I destroyed Al-Thamen," Sinbad declared in a casual tone while watching him closely.

The magi's reaction would be a crucial indicator of whether or not he could actually be trusted. Sinbad had used pretty words to reassure Ja'far but he was not an idiot. He knew there was no guarantee the situation would play out as he hoped.

"Liar," Judal whispered back, his face and tone neutral.

He had not expected denial, but it was still better than outright hostility, so Sinbad decided to consider it a positive step.

"No, I assure you," he pressed on. "We raided the palace while you were… downstairs. And we killed them to the very last one. Even Ren Gyokuen."

The sincerity in his voice appeared to reach Judal and a number of feelings quickly played over the magi's face.

The one that visibly eclipsed the others, though, was relief.

"I see," Judal murmured with a not very well executed display of coldness.

It seemed the magi was trying his best to look unaffected, but Sinbad was too preoccupied with his internal glee to laugh at it. This was going a lot better than he had anticipated.

"Was the cell really necessary?" Judal asked in a cynical tone. "I don't really have anywhere to escape to…"

Sinbad raised a curious eyebrow at the comment. The room was not dripping with luxury, but it could hardly be mistaken for a prison. Also, Judal was probably aware that he would not be imprisoned in Sindria. Was the magi taunting him or… or what?

"You're not in a cell," the king answered slowly, his tone carefully non-confrontational. "You're free to go and open the door whenever you feel like it."

Of course, he did not intend to mention the guards standing in close proximity of the area, and even less the more than probable presence of Ja'far nearby. He would rather have Judal trust him before informing him he was under strict surveillance.

The magi made a really confused face, then a slow smile crept to his lips and he snorted:

"If it's not a cell, then why is it so dark in here? You're too poor to afford a candle?"

Sinbad blinked, his mind drawing a blank. Most of the time, he could discern the pattern behind Judal's seemingly random actions, but right now he had to admit that he was extremely perplexed.

"It's… not dark," he trailed cautiously.

"Not dark?" the magi bit out. "It's black as fuck!"

Judal's eyes searched the room once more, dull and unfocused, and, as they were trailing aimlessly along the ceiling, Sinbad was finally hit by the realization that Judal had somehow become blind.

The king sighed deeply and, gently, he put a hand on the magi's shoulder. Startled, Judal jerked at the contact and then another expression of pain took over his features.

"Judal," Sinbad told him softly, "it's the middle of the day. Can't you feel the sun on your arm?"

The magi turned his face to his left forearm where a ray of light warmed his skin.

"Liar," he mumbled without much conviction. His eyes narrowed in another attempt to discern something through the thick darkness that had engulfed them.

"I'm telling you the truth," Sinbad countered. "I wouldn't throw you in a prison, you know that."

"Right," was the magi's tired answer, "forgot who I was talking to. You're still lying. Somehow."

"Not right now," he quipped before regaining a serious tone. "We've treated most of your wounds but, since you were asleep, we didn't realize your eyes had been affected as well. It must be a side effect of whatever's been done to you. I'll ask the healers to have a look and you'll have your vision back in no time."

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were Judal's short breaths. Then the magi turned his face to him.

"If I'm not in a cell," he asked in and accusing voice, "then why did you tie me to the bed?"

"I did not-" Sinbad retorted before he connected the dots and paused. "Oh." He looked at the magi's completely unmoving form, noticing how the bed sheets and long black hair has not been disturbed by an inch. He should have spotted that sooner. Stillness had no part in Judal's usual behavior. "You can't move your body at all?"

The magi did not answer immediately, and Sinbad guessed he was testing his limbs. His arms and fingers shivered a bit but nothing more and Judal eventually let out a deep, annoyed breath.

"My legs," he groaned. "I can't feel them. And the rest hurts too much to move anyway."

Sinbad sighed at the confirmation and his voice settled in a gentler tone.

"That… might be another side-effect we failed to spot."

"Gee," was the question to follow, "How many things did you miss, dumbass?"

"At least two," Sinbad calmly replied, refusing to rise to the bait. "I'll have the healers check on you, more thoroughly. They'll be able to ask you questions this time, so that should help. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried, stupid king."

He repressed a chuckle. Of course, Judal would not admit to being worried. Not in front of him.

"Anything else going on?" he asked in a casual manner, still studying Judal's quite irregular breathing. He was not worried about the magi's immediate survival, but the obviousness of his general unease was concerning.

"Not really."

Sinbad had a feeling he was not being told everything, but he doubted asking now would bring him answers. It would most likely stir up a squabble instead. Judal was not what you would call secretive, but he was indisputably stubborn and, if he had decided that there was not anything else… he would not tell.

"Good," he eventually settled for. "I'll ask Yamraiha to check on you in a few hours."

"Why not now?" Judal grumbled.

"She's already examined you while you were asleep," he explained. "It wasn't really conclusive, so she's been researching her library for other spells that might work to tell us what's going on."

"Because," Judal said flatly, "you have no idea what's going on."

There was a trace of worry in his voice, but Sinbad knew better than to mention it.

"Not really," he replied instead. "From what Yam told me, magic doesn't answer when it comes to you."

"And that's your genius magician? She's lame."

"I think the problem is more related to your condition than her abilities."

"The bitch is still lame."

Sinbad closed his eyes for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose. The next point should be breeched sooner rather than later, but it was still going to be a headache.

"Judal," he waited a heartbeat to make sure he had the magi's full attention. "I want you to be polite with the people who will be taking care of you. Be it Yam or the healers, they only want to help, and they deserve your respect."

A derisive snort was the magi's only answer.

"I mean it, Judal. Your recovery lies in their hands. If you piss them off, they might decide to leave you to your own misery."

"You're the king," Judal countered. "They're your subjects. Can't you make them obey you?"

"I can," he conceded, "and I might. But a king's first duty is to protect his subjects and ensure their well-being. And, as far as I've been informed, you're not my subject yet."

"I'm a magi, idiot. I don't obey anyone."

"Still," he argued, "if you make it impossible for the healers to take care of you, I'll side with them." Judal frowned and he sighed. "I only request that you act politely."

"I'm not your dog, stupid king."

"Judal…" he began with a note of exasperation in his voice.

"Fine," the magi conceded. "I guess I can try to play nice for a bit."

Sinbad sighed, knowing this was probably the best he would get at this point. He nodded, remembered that Judal could not see him do so, and thanked him instead.

The magi turned his face away from him, the focus of his dull eyes landing somewhere near his sun-warmed elbow.

"So," Judal stated softly, "I'm in your stupid country-"

"Sindria," he corrected mechanically, knowing full well the magi did not give a damn.

"-I'm blind… and I can't move."

Sinbad carefully restrained a chuckle at the magi's annoyed expression.

"That's one way to sum up the situation, yes."

There was a pause and, then, Judal sighed.

"Fuck my life."

Which was another way to sum up the situation.

"That reminds me," Sinbad added, "Aladdin is here, and he's asked to meet you."

The magi's fingers twitched at that.

"And fuck my life twice."

At the comment, Sinbad allowed himself a delighted grin that Judal would not see.

"I surmise you don't want to meet him?" he asked, barely suppressing the laugh in his voice.

"Don't let that fucking brat anywhere near me!"

There was an undertone of panic in Judal's voice, and Sinbad wisely chose to avoid pointing out that the magi was the one behaving like a brat right now.

"I'll tell him you're not well enough for visits," he granted, mostly to ease Judal's rapidly quickening breathing, "but you'll have to deal with him at one point or another. He's as stubborn as you are, and he'll probably find a way to sneak in here anyway."

"Great," Judal muttered. "Another thing I have to-… think about."

"You'll be fine. Don't worry."

"I'm not _worried_ ," was the irritated answer, "Don't you have a country to run? Leave me alone, you idiot."

Far too pleased with the situation to be offended, Sinbad sniggered and rose from his chair.

"I'll be off, then. See you in a while."

Judal grumbled something that was probably not very polite, and Sinbad left the room. As he closed the door, he let out a deep relieved breath. Things had gone a _lot_ better than what he had expected. Of course, Judal was doubtlessly going to be a handful, and it would probably require huge amounts of patience to deal with his shifting moods but, in the end, it would all be worth it.

As he left, he dismissed the guards from their watch.

Judal was not going to run away.

Ѻ

One more time, Yamraiha focused her mind on the unmoving magi. She had been spending the better part of her afternoon, trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

And failing.

"This makes no sense," she mumbled with irritation after her last idea, a combination of clairvoyance and water magic, failed to provide her with any information other than the rukh's deliberate refusal to approach Judal, "There should be some way to…"

As she shifted the pattern of the rukh once more, Judal emerged from the subdued trance he had been lingering in and barked his first words since she had entered:

"You're kind of useless, you know that?"

"Shut up," she retorted, "I'm trying to concentrate."

"I can _see_ how well it's working," he scoffed. "Except I can't, because you suck."

She bit her lip and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Anyone here?" Judal asked with a grin. "Did you leave already? If not, can you bring back someone who knows what they're doing?"

 _I will not hit the blind magi with the nearest blunt object, I will not hit…_

"Listen," she replied, trying to contain the urge to mishandle her staff, "It's not easy and I'm doing my best, so-…"

"Then try doing the best of someone better."

She tightened her grip on the wood.

"You're insufferable."

"Well, you're useless, so that makes us even."

"Just… just let me concentrate."

 _Self-centered egotistical prick._

"Ouch," Judal commented and she realized she had thought out loud, "the bitch can bite."

"That's it," she declared, "I'm not putting up with this any longer."

With a wave of gravity magic, she assembled the diverse parchments lying about in the room and rolled them neatly together.

"Have a _good_ afternoon," she growled and loudly slammed the door behind her to avoid hearing Judal's retort.

Leaning against the wall, she huffed in annoyance and let her anger settle down. She then tucked a wild strand of hair back behind her ear and marched intently towards her laboratory.

"You stayed longer than I would have expected," a wry voice commented.

She jumped and barely held back her glowing staff from concussing the person behind her as she turned around wildly… to meet Ja'far's calm gaze.

Absolutely unfazed by the glowing staff only two inches from his face, the ex-assassin was staring at her with intent and she realized he was waiting for her to answer.

"Yeah, um, sorry about that," she apologized, a bit ashamed to have let her feisty temperament get the better of her. "He was really rude."

Ja'far smiled pleasantly.

"Oh, no, don't apologize. It stood within reason that you would not let Judal step all over you."

She stared at him.

"You just happened to know I was going to lose it and storm off?"

"I was not expecting any less from you, considering how you usually deal with Sharrkan's crude mouth. In fact, I'm surprised he's still in one piece. You've shown restraint."

She was not entirely sure if Ja'far was praising her – the ex-assassin had always been quite ambiguous – but she preened nonetheless, relieved that she had not acted wrong. Funny how she regarded Ja'far as some sort of paternal figure when the man was probably not much more than two or three years older than her.

"So," she asked with a smirk, "why are you prowling around the twerp's room?"

"Now, now," he replied in an evasive tone, "what makes you believe I would lose my valuable time idling around to keep an eye on an invalid?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, tapping her bottom lip with her finger, "personal vendetta against said invalid? Or it could be your usual paranoia clouding your judgment."

"My judgment is perfectly clear, thank you very much."

"I'm sure of that."

"How did it go?" he asked, changing the subject. "What did you find out?"

"Were you so impatient to hear my diagnosis that you lurked around, waiting for me to come out?"

She offered a mischievous smirk and Ja'far countered with his 'I-deal-with-Sinbad's-humour-on-a-daily-basis' stare.

She gave up.

"Apart from him being an insufferable prick, I didn't find much about his condition. The rukh doesn't want to approach him, so there's very little I can do."

"Any theory or suggestion as to why he was put in such a state?"

"One or two, but nothing really plausible… though, there is something that concerns me."

"What is it?"

"Judal's state is, well, really bad. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to do anything to heal him-…" she saw the questioning look on his face and quickly added: "It doesn't mean that I won't try, I'm just not lying about his chances."

"I see. I'll mention this to Sin for you."

She nodded with a bit of relief. Their king had never hidden his inexplicable fondness for the insane magi and Yamraiha was wary of bringing him bad news regarding the subject.

"So," Ja'far asked after a few seconds of silence, "what is it that concerns you?"

"Well…"

Ѻ

"Sin."

At the sound of his advisor's stern voice, Sinbad looked up from his supper. Contrary to his habits, he was eating alone to finish part of the work he had left to accumulate during the afternoon. Visiting five to six times to see how Judal was doing had taken a good portion of his day and he was pretty sure Ja'far was here to lecture him about that.

Mentally preparing himself for the familiar lecture about responsibility and his duties as king, he put on a smile – not a fake one, he was sincerely happy to see his friend – and beckoned him to sit by his side.

"I have bad news," Ja'far declared while approaching.

Sinbad tensed at the words, but his advisor's stance was relaxed and Ja'far had not barged in, so it was probably safe to assume the situation was not critical. Reassured that Sindria was not sinking, he stretched lazily, grimacing at hearing his joints cracking.

"Didn't I make a law about bringing bad news at such a late hour?"

"You were drunk that night," Ja'far replied gravely while sitting next to him, "I overruled it."

He offered his advisor the pitcher, but Ja'far simply gave him _the look_ and Sinbad gave up, pouring himself a glass in retribution.

"Can you really do that?" he asked half-serious. "I'm the king, you can't outlaw my laws."

Ja'far produced a steaming cup of tea – how he did and where he had found it would forever remain a mystery, considering there was not any tea or boiled water among the fruits and fishes scattered on the table – and took a few tranquil sips before answering:

"You gave me express authorization to veto any stupid laws that you would try to pass on this country while drunk. I still have the document you signed for the occasion. The three copies of them."

"When was that?"

"Quite a few years ago, during one of Sindria's first festivals."

"Oh, yeah, I think I remember that night. I was drunk. I didn't think you would take this seriously."

"Of course, you didn't think," Ja'far pointed out with a shrug. "You do tend not to think when you're drunk."

"And you took advantage of it," Sinbad accused in a lighthearted tone.

"I did," Ja'far nodded. "And the fact that you let me do so only reinforces my opinion that you are not to be trusted with legal documents once you've reached a certain degree of inebriation."

Sinbad sighed.

"Alright, alright. What's this bad news about?"

"Your broken pet magi."

"Judal?" A cold hand gripped his stomach. "Has something happened? Should I…" He began to get up but Ja'far gripped the back of his robe and pulled him back on the cushions.

"Nothing has happened, the prick is still in the same state he was in when you visited him this evening and the bad news is that Yam can't cure him."

"I see." This was bad news, but not the worst he could have received. Sinbad settled back, a contemplative frown on his face. "Did she give any indication as to why she can't?"

Ja'far caught a lonely slice of mango on a plate and nibbled on it.

"Same as in Kou. The rukh doesn't want to come near Judal. But she has added a few concerning things, namely the absence of black rukh around him."

"How is that odd? Didn't she say the rukh didn't come near him?"

"Yes, but considering he's got every reason to curse his fate right now, there should be black rukh, even at a distance from him."

"Could he be less unhappy than she thinks?"

"I spied on him while he didn't know I was there – you know how good I am at being unnoticed." He nodded. Ja'far could pretty much blend in with the sand. "He's definitely brooding."

"Maybe it's simply Sindria's influence? Or Aladdin's presence nearby?"

"I asked the same. From what Yam explained, that'd be unlikely. Judal is a fallen magi, so the black rukh loves him. He should attract it like honey attracts wasps, especially since he's angry and sad. But Yam is adamant that there's not a speck of black around him."

"You're right. It _is_ odd." He contemplated his half-eaten fish and added with a smirk: "Well, if he's not sinking even more into depravity, I'm going to consider this a good sign."

Ja'far rolled his eyes.

"You are a hopeless optimist."

He raised an amused eyebrow.

"You know very well I'm not."

"That's what makes me so worried when you spout nonsense like that."

Ѻ

Judal was drifting between sleep and wakefulness. The constant pain forbade him from sinking into heavy slumber, and anyway, he did not want to. His mind had always been a dark place and the nightmares were never kind. Also, considering the amount of black rukh he had dealt with lately, he was sure that whatever awaited him in the realm of dreams would not be fun to experience.

A vague wave of regret washed through him. He used to be such a heavy sleeper – even through his most dreadful nightmares – but now, any small noise was enough to wake him.

As if on cue, the slight creaking of the opening door pulled him out of his lethargy. He groaned irritably. If this was Sinbad again, he was going to get mad. The stupid king had visited him at least a dozen times in the last three days, so much that Judal was beginning to wonder how Sindria had not yet sunk on its own, when its ruler was so inclined to escape his work.

Although he had to admit that the attention was slightly endearing.

"Hey, stupid king," he mumbled tiredly. "You woke me up."

He heard the light padding of naked feet on stone before they were muffled by the carpets. The soft jingle of Sinbad's metal vessels was missing, so it couldn't be him.

"Who's there?" he asked, a bit alarmed.

There was a rustle of clothes near his head and the plop of someone sinking in a deep cushion.

"Wow," a child-pitched voice stated softly and, as he recognized it, a pit of dread opened within his stomach, "Sinbad said you had been hurt, but you were really, _really_ hurt."

"Leave," he whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Aladdin's proximity roused the memories of their fights in Balbad, the reminiscences crawling under his skin like burrowing worms. He could still remember vividly the confusion and helplessness as his powers were cut off from him. He closed his dead eyes in reflex, trying to protect his mind from the searing light that had made his whole world blur and twist around him.

He had been hurt a lot for this failure.

"Leave," he hissed, trying to appease his rising panic surging within him.

 _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…_

"I'm not leaving," the child answered gently. "I need to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you," he retorted, remembering how it had hurt when the brat's djinn had crushed his body in its gigantic hands.

Dread welled again, an instinctual reaction at the recollection of broken bones, of being unable to move, knowing he had lost and that the pain had just begun.

"Get out."

"Judal," the brat pleaded, "this is important."

"I don't care," he snarled, fighting down his inner disgust and fear. "Fuck off."

"But I can help you!" the kid argued. "You don't want my help?"

"No, I don't-…"

He paused and considered for a few seconds. Despite all of his instincts screaming at him to run away from the brat – not that he _could_ , but that was beside the point – he could not entirely dismiss the assistance of another magi. Well, he could, but not without at least considering. Sinbad's useless magician was clearly far from making any progress, so maybe, just maybe, he could let the brat do the job. As much as he hated the idea of owing something to his enemy, he hated his current situation a lot more.

He let out a long, deep sigh.

"I'm listening."

He heard a short intake of breath and his mind supplied Aladdin's more than probable stunned expression.

"Thanks."

There was a silence.

"So?" he grumbled.

"This is going to sound a bit weird," the brat began slowly, and he grunted impatiently, "but I want to help you be good again."

He frowned at the formulation. If the brat did not want to heal him, then he would have no part in whatever was coming.

"What do you mean by that?"

Deep audible intake of breath and then:

"I'm going to help you climb out of depravity."

For a moment, he was speechless.

Then, the ridiculousness of the offer was just too hard to handle, and he let it out, a cruel laughter that shook his torso in painful uncontrollable spasms. His hilarity quickly died down under the hurt and a whiny noise escaped his throat.

"Judal? Are you okay?"

"Wonderful," he mockingly spat, ignoring the throbbing in his chest, "You just made my day, waking me up in the middle of the night and asking me to stop being evil…"

 _Who gave you the right to judge me?_

"Not 'evil'," Aladdin countered, sounding slightly offended, "just-"

"Depraved?"

Judal heard a deep sigh and he internally smirked. If he could still drive people insane, then all was not lost.

"What do you think?" he added with a mocking grin. "That I'm going to say 'oh my, you're right, what was I thinking?' and, poof, I'll be good? Nice one, brat. At least you're entertaining."

"I expect you to acknowledge the possibility," Aladdin replied. "It's a good start."

"You're not kidding…" Judal whispered in overplayed incredulity, "You _actually_ expect me to stop being evil. Wow. You're dumber than I thought. That's a pretty high bar to cross, you know."

"Being… fallen and being evil are not the same," the kid tried again. "Evil means you're hurting others-…"

"Which I do," Judal countered, perhaps a bit too hastily. "All the time, it's fun."

"When you're fallen, you're mostly hurting yourself."

Judal snorted.

"Whatever. Depraved or evil, it's not like I can just stop."

"Why not?" Aladdin asked with genuine curiosity.

"Because I've always been. It's who I am."

"Were you when you were born?" Aladdin asked, his voice carrying this eerie sincerity. "I don't think you were. There's a reason it's called 'falling'."

Judal snorted again, but it was a weaker sound.

"You weren't born into depravity," Aladdin continued after a few seconds of silence, "No one is."

"I am now," he muttered, wondering why he was even arguing with the brat. "That's what matters."

"This is not the real you," the young magi declared. "It's just … like a layer over you. It twists your actions and your thoughts."

"Oh," he drawled in a sarcastic tone, "and the 'real me' is good?"

"No. You can't be reduced to a single word."

The brat was rapidly becoming irritating with all of his so-called wisdom – why were they talking, again? – and Judal tried to think of a good come-back to shut him up but nothing came to him. He had never been a really fast thinker anyway, so it was not surprising, but it did bother him, like he was losing a fight of another kind. He hated losing. And losing to Aladdin was even worse.

"Anyway," he mumbled, "I won't stop being evil just because you ask me."

"You said 'won't' this time," Aladdin pointed out – having apparently given up on correcting his word choices. "Not 'can't'."

"Well what's your fucking point?" he snarled.

"People can change," the brat replied softly. "They _won't_ or they _will_ , but it's never that they _can't_."

"I'm done talking to you. Get out."

As far as he could see (metaphorically speaking), Aladdin did not have the intention – or the power – to give him his eyes, legs or magic back, which made this whole conversation pretty much pointless to him.

"Just think about it," the brat asked in a pleading voice, "okay?"

"No. Get out."

Ѻ

A knock on the door of his office and Sinbad put down the legislation he had been reading.

"Come in," he invited and smiled welcomingly at the blue head perking inside of the room.

"Ja'far said you wanted to see me," Aladdin said, closing the door behind him. There was a small nuance of interrogation in the sentence and Sinbad gestured to a comfortable chair in front of his desk.

"Judal has informed me," _screamed at me,_ "that you snuck into his room last night. Did you?"

"Yes."

Aladdin had replied looking at him straight in the eyes and Sinbad could tell that the child did not feel any guilt about disobeying his orders. That was not really a surprise: pretty much every magi he had met seemed to have a healthy dose of disrespect for authority.

Still, he could try to re-assert his influence over the child – he did not expect it to work but it was worth the try:

"I had specifically told you that he was not well enough for visits and that you should not go and see him. May I know why you chose to disregard my demands?"

Aladdin scrunched up his nose.

"Well, you went to visit him quite a lot, so I thought he could have visits now…"

Damn. He had thought he had been discrete. Had Aladdin cast some sort of monitoring spell on him? He should ask Yamraiha to check as soon as possible.

Or he could simply ask.

"Wait a second," he asked, keeping his voice non-accusing, "how do you know that I've been checking on him?"

"You just told me."

Aladdin's smile was just a bit too wide to be completely innocent and Sinbad inwardly applauded the mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

 _Well played, kid._

"Actually, I guessed that he could receive visits," Aladdin continued, "and that he had told you he didn't want to see me… Am I correct?"

Denying at this point would be ridiculous, so Sinbad nodded.

"And, if you've guessed all of that," he added, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, "why did you decide to go against Judal's desire to be left in peace? Surely you're not the type for petty revenge…"

 _Even if he killed the djinn who stood as your parental figure simply because it amused him, turned Alibaba's childhood friend into a mindless hurting puppet, caused countless deaths in Balbad, declared war on the country you live in right now and tried to kill you at every occasion he has had._

Maybe petty revenge was not that far of a stretch…

"Revenge?" Aladdin asked, apparently dazed at the idea. "What good would it bring? I want to help him, so we can end the circle of pain."

…Or maybe 'Solomon's Wisdom' was not just a fancy name for a fancy power but required actual _wisdom_ to be performed. No wonder he had never heard of anyone casting such a spell before. Common sense was rarer than magi.

"And how do you plan to do that?" he asked genuinely curious.

"I'll bring him back out of depravity," the child declared resolutely.

Sinbad stared for a few seconds, evaluating the credibility he could give Aladdin.

"I've never heard of anyone doing that," he mused, "but if it's you, maybe you can."

After all, the kid had proven to be a maker of miracles more than once. And the idea of a bright Judal, a Judal who was not driven half insane by black rukh, was one he could get behind.

A White Sun, instead of a black one.

"How exactly are you going to bring him back?" he asked, unable to contain the wide grin that stretched his lips. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

If they were doing this, they were doing it right, and there was no reason for him to entrust everything to Aladdin.

"Oh, there's not much you can do," the kid replied, looking visibly relieved by his positive reaction, "except for being nice to him and trying not to remind him of his past. It's going to be easier to get him to talk to me if he doesn't feel constantly blamed for the things he did."

Sinbad raised a curious eyebrow.

"So, you're just going to be talking to him?"

Aladdin smiled gently.

"I'm going to heal him."

Ѻ

 **Pheeeew ! Now that was a loooooong chapter. Lot of things happening, and much Judal being a** ** _pleasure_** **to deal with.**

 **Don't know about you, but I just love writing Ja'far and Sinbad arguing about things. It's always a treat.**

 **I have a few modifications to make to chapter 3, so expect it by the end of the week.**


	3. Heal me

**Dont own anything, Shinobu Ohtaka is a miracle, moving on to the story...**

 **Chapter 3:** Heal me

The morning had come and gone and Sindria was bustling with life. The sounds made by the cooks in the kitchens, or by the maids and servants around the palace, reverberated against the walls and ceilings, traveling along the corridors and halls. The echoes of their exclamations and laughs – quashed by the distance – reached Judal's ears in an endless, indecipherable cacophony.

Listening to the voice of the palace was not interesting per say, but it was the only activity available to him.

He could have told Sinbad that he was bored and asked for someone to read him stories or whatever – the idiot king would probably jump in glee at the possibility – but that would be admitting he needed help, something he was not about to do.

The soft padding of naked feet on stone tiles informed him that the brat was back.

He sighed. Even though he had nothing better to do, the fact that Aladdin was coming back when he had told him in no uncertain terms to leave was enough to irritate him.

"Hello Judal," chirped the kid in that annoyingly happy voice.

He groaned in aggravation.

"Not you again."

Unbothered by the unwelcoming greeting, Aladdin sat on the plushy cushion next to his head. The rustle of cloth told Judal that the brat was fidgeting.

"Stop that," he grumbled, feeling some fuzzy satisfaction when Aladdin immediately obeyed.

"Have you thought about what I told you?" the brat asked, instantly souring his mood.

"No," he lied. "Fuck off."

Of course, Aladdin was not repelled the least by his rude reply and leaned over him, the end of his braid tickling his right shoulder.

"Get off me!" he snarled, and the brat jumped back.

"I'm sorry," blurted the child's slightly panicked voice, "did I hurt you?"

For a few minutes, Judal had forgotten about the constant lancing in his bones, but the reminder brought the pain back to the forefront of his mind.

Deciding to let the brat stew a bit in his worry – why that little prick would be worried about him was unfathomable – he only grunted in reply.

There was a long silence, but Judal had grown accustomed to it and he found some measure of fun in listening to Aladdin's nervous breathing.

"I talked to Mor, today," the brat eventually said. "You remember her?"

He groaned. Obviously, Aladdin was not going to let him be.

"I don't care."

"She's the girl with dark red hair and white dress," the brat informed him. "She's my best friend!"

"Wasn't that your sorry excuse for a king candidate?" he commented, vaguely intrigued.

"You mean Alibaba?" Aladdin's excited tone made Judal immediately regret his question. "He's my best friend, too! I can have more than one best friend, right? Alibaba said I could. Do you wanna know how we became friends?"

Judal started a 'no', but the brat was faster.

"We went on an adventure together! It was inside Amon's dungeon, you've heard of it, haven't you? Well, anyway, we got in because we were chased after meeting Morgiana in the markets; she was carrying a huge basket of lemons, did I tell you that she's super strong? Well, we got chased because I broke her chains, she was a slave at the time, you know, and then, these guys wanted to capture us, so we-…"

"I get it," he growled, annoyed by the brat's enthusiasm and less than stellar storytelling. "Shut up. I don't want to hear about your friends or whatever."

"Is it because you don't have friends?"

Aladdin's tone was devoid of any mockery or irony and it was probably the only reason that the question did not sound as offending as it should have.

"I have friends!" Judal countered, mentally flickering through the persons he knew and trying to weight which one he could actually call so.

Maybe Kougyoku… and Hakuryuu to a certain extent, although the two were more something along the line of the only ones who would tolerate his presence enough to stick around when they did not immediately need something from him.

He was not sure if that made them his friends or not.

"I just don't want to talk to you," he eventually muttered, frustrated for not finding a better retort, "now get out."

"Wait!" Aladdin interjected and there was an unmistakable trace of panic in the brat's voice. "There's a reason I'm telling you about Mor!"

"I still don't care," he mumbled, but did not protest further.

"We were talking about her household vessel," Aladdin explained, cheerfully ignoring his lack of enthusiasm, "it used to be on her wrists, you see, but she moved it to her ankles so we were talking about how it changed her way to fight, because…" Judal let out an annoyed sigh and Aladdin came back to his original topic: "…anyway, they were originally made from her slave shackles, and I asked how she could have let chains like that hold her down, because she could have broken them anytime, she's a fanalis, you know, so she's really, really strong-"

"Get to the point, brat."

He had to admit that he was slightly intrigued by where this was going. He would never admit it out loud, though.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Well, the thing is… she could have broken the chains easily at any point, but she had also been told all her childhood that the chains would never break and that she would be a slave forever. And because of that, she just believed it and did not even try anymore."

"So, what?"

"It made me think of you."

"I don't see why," he muttered, "I'm hardly a slave."

A slight uneasiness quivered at the back of his mind and he deliberately ignored it.

"Well," Aladdin replied, "not exactly, but-…"

"I am _not_ a slave."

His tone held enough of a warning for the brat to concede the point.

"Alright, you're not. It wasn't what made me think of you, so-…"

"Then get to the point," he murmured with tired irritation.

"She told me that the real chains were in her mind," Aladdin said gently. "That's what made me think of you." There was a pause in which the brat seemed to be waiting for him to react, but he remained stubbornly silent, so Aladdin continued: "She was the one holding herself captive in a dark prison – not Jamil, not the slavers, just her – and she did not realize that she was a hundred time stronger than her jailors."

Judal tried really hard to take no notice of the parallel Aladdin was drawing.

"Judal?"

"Get out," he whispered.

Aladdin must have sensed that insisting would not bode well.

"Okay," the child said while getting up. "Good afternoon, then. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Don't," Judal grumbled, conscious he was talking to thin air at this point. "Just leave me alone."

Ѻ

"I still don't understand why they did it."

Ja'far raised his gaze from the tax records he had been double-checking and stared blankly at the opened door. Unbothered by the interruption – Sinbad tended to consider his office a courtroom hall – he went back to his work, letting his friend enter the room and make himself comfortable. His attention was caught by the metallic sound of a carafe hitting wood and he glowered at the wine pitcher his king had casually placed on one of his working shelves, next to a neat pile of finished paperwork. Noticing his glare, Sinbad moved the jug to his desk – not an inch from the precious tax account – and Ja'far understood that this was going to be a conversation. With a small sigh, he whisked the fragile scroll away from the pitcher's threatening presence and asked jadedly:

"Why _who_ did _what_?"

"Al-Thamen." That got his attention. "Why did they do that to him?"

At this point, there was no need to mention who 'him' was. Considering his king's tone and expression, Ja'far decided that Sinbad had probably not come looking for advice and was just here to benefit from his listening presence.

"I don't know, Sin," he replied with a shrug. He did not want to think about the brat right now. "What do you think?"

Waiting for his king's answer, Ja'far cleaned his quill with a piece of cloth and closed the bottle of ink that was dangerously close to Sinbad.

"Nothing," his king admitted and began pacing the green carpets in front of the desk. "I can't find a good reason they would have for weakening Judal." He paused, his brow furrowed, and added hastily: "Not that there could ever be a good enough reason to break someone like they did. That's why I'm here."

"I'm flattered that you hold my reasoning in such high esteem," Ja'far dryly declared, sending his king a pointed look.

With a dark chuckle, Sinbad stopped his irritating pacing.

"You're the expert when it comes to deciphering twisted moves from sick and distorted minds."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he replied.

"It was meant as one."

There were a few seconds of silence, in which Ja'far contemplated the idea of making some tea, but he was stirred from his musing by his king's heartfelt sigh.

"It just doesn't make any sense," his friend murmured, leaning tiredly against the desk and Ja'far examined his weary expression. Perhaps the brat's condition was affecting his king more than he had first anticipated. "What were they hoping to accomplish? What were their intentions? What did they _do_ to him?"

Ja'far's head perked up at the last question.

"You didn't ask him?"

"What?"

Sinbad seemed a bit stunned – his king must be really out of it – and he rephrased patiently:

"Judal. He might be an imbecile, but he's bound to have at least a vague idea of what's been done to him. Didn't you ask him?"

"Don't be stupid," Sinbad snapped, "of course I asked!"

Seeing him frowning at the outburst, Sinbad pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Sorry, I just…"

"Forgiven," was the laconic reply. "So? What did he say?"

His king's expression darkened and Ja'far knew the answer before even a word was spoken.

"He refuses to speak about it," Sinbad revealed with a trodden look on his face. "If I breech the subject, he gets angry or shuts off."

"Classic."

"I think there's more to it. Some sort of trauma, no doubt."

"I'll see that for myself," Ja'far declared. "You're awfully biased when it comes to the brat; always seeing what you want to see or distorting it to fit with your views."

Sinbad let himself fall on a chair with a tired groan.

"You're probably right."

"Probably?"

The tease should have elicited a small laugh, but his king merely offered him a weary smile.

"You're right, as always."

"Thank you," Ja'far replied, ironic, before turning serious again. "I am going to repeat myself, but I still believe you should have let him die," Sinbad frowned, "or at least leave Kouen to deal with it."

"Not this again," his king sighed. "You know perfectly well why I couldn't do that."

"The fact that I _know_ doesn't mean that I _understand_."

Sinbad opened his arms in a wide gesture:

"How could I leave him to be nothing but an object in Kou's possession and still look at myself in a mirror?"

Not letting his king's flare for dramatics impress him, Ja'far countered flatly:

"You don't need to see your face all the time. In fact, it would be pretty good for your ego to avoid mirrors."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes. I do." He looked around, searching for something that could help him convince his king that the brat was not worth the worry. "What I do not know is why this is affecting you so much."

A spark of anger flared in Sinbad's eyes.

"Haven't you _seen_ him? He's lost everything. His legs, his magic, his sight…"

"I know," was the unbothered reply.

Sinbad seemed to be thrown off by his advisor's cold reaction.

"You don't care?"

His king seemed disbelieving, something Ja'far found curious. He had made it clear over time that he held absolutely no love for the brat.

"Frankly?" he answered. "I'm relieved. As long as he's bed-ridden, he won't try to attack you, kill our people or sink Sindria. That's a threat less in my book."

"Surely, you can't be that heartless."

This time, it was not anger, but something akin to sadness – or disappointment – that flashed in his king's eyes and Ja'far wondered idly if he had gone too far.

"Heartless?" he asked. "Hardly. I simply choose who I care about. You." He paused, looking straight at his king. "Hina', Masrur, Pisti, Yamraiha, Spartos… People who will have my back. People who I want to protect. People who I like and trust. But Judal?" His eyes became very cold. "He's a lunatic murderer with too much power for his own good and not even a shred of loyalty or morals to balance it."

Sinbad shook his head.

"You speak of Judal as if there weren't anything positive about him."

"Because. There. Isn't," he ground out, trying to contain the frustration welling up inside him. Was it so hard to realize that the brat was a lost cause? "That's your warped perspective speaking."

"I'm beginning to think you're not as unbiased as I thought."

That stung.

"For goodness' sake, Sin," he snarled, "he's tried to kill you!"

Sinbad stared at him, seemingly unbothered by the heated retort and smiled very softly.

"So have you."

Being compared to Judal riled him more than he cared to admit, and he took a deep breath to compose himself.

He was not going to let his temper get the better of him, not anymore, not when there was such an important argument at stake. He could not, because if he did, he would just be back to his twelve-year-old self, cursing at everyone, and there would be no point in having spent so much time learning to wield his words with as much accuracy he did his blades.

That and Sinbad would win. Again.

"That was low," he stated coolly. "And our circumstances are not the same."

"Are they not?" his king asked, and he frowned in reply. "You tried to kill me the very first time we met and a few others after that. Look at us now." Sinbad's voice had taken this peculiar tone that could not be described but that always struck a specific chord in his heart. "You're my general, my advisor, my most trusted friend…"

"Still," Ja'far interrupted him, trying to regain control of the conversation, "we did not build that friendship while I was actively trying to destroy everything you would ever create." At Sinbad's frown, Ja'far knew he had an opening. "I did not ally with your political enemies or decided to declare war on Sindria for the sake of _fun_. I did not betray you over and over, only to come back, with pretty words and a smile. I did not-…"

"I think I get it," Sinbad cut him off with a bit of a patronizing smile.

"No, you don't get it," Ja'far growled. "If I have to spell it out like this for you to begin doubting your ridiculous partiality to that insane brat, then you _don't_ get it. You don't get it and you're going to get yourself _killed_ because of it!"

Ja'far frowned in irritation at the panic he had let rise in his voice.

"He's not a threat anymore," Sinbad retorted lightly, dismissing the litany with an infuriating wave of his hand.

"He's always been a threat and he will always be!" Ja'far snarled, balling his hands into fists to refrain from strangling his king. He took a deep (and mortified) breath to regain his lost self-control. "He doesn't deserve even half of the leniency you've shown him over the years. There is nothing to excuse his actions towards you _or your people_ ," this seemed to reach his king, "and nothing in his behavior ever showed even a hint that he would change his ways. If he hadn't been hurt, he would still be trying to impale you on an icicle." Sinbad flinched at the image. "Just face it, Sin, your fondness for Judal is completely irrational."

"Maybe…" he trailed softly.

"Don't try to dodge this one," Ja'far glowered. "Name one good thing, only _one_ thing, which he has done, genuinely, for you or anyone in this country."

Sinbad remained silent.

"See?" Ja'far declared, feeling triumphant. "Irrational."

On that sentence, he got to his feet and went to retrieve a teapot and two cups from his office's cupboard.

He brewed his tea in silence, deliberately avoiding facing his king, because he knew he would not be able to contain the smug smile that was working its way on his lips and, if Sinbad saw it, they would be arguing again.

"There may not be any logical reason behind my … affection," Sinbad began in a clipped tone, "But don't think I'm dealing with him without a goal in mind… or a plan."

Ja'far sighed. He should have seen it coming; be it a battle or a debate his king did not like losing.

" _Of course_ , you have a plan." They both knew Sinbad was not helping the magi out of the kindness of his heart. "You hope that he will choose you."

It sounded almost like an accusation.

"A man can dream," his king replied with a lazy stretch. "And even if he doesn't take me as his king, it'll still be worth it."

"How so?" he asked, skeptical.

"Where should I begin?" Sinbad asked with a shrug, "We've been treating him with kindness and getting him used to be considered as a person and not a tool. We've been enticing him to think by himself," Ja'far snorted in disbelief but his king paid no mind, "all of our actions ensure that he will not become little more than a pawn to be used against us in the future."

"Yet, that _is_ what you would have him be to you," Ja'far countered in a sardonic tone. "A pawn."

Sinbad cocked his head to the side; a sly grin was working its way on his lips.

"Maybe," he admitted, and his hard, calculating expression would have alarmed any of his Eight Generals except that it reassured Ja'far that Sinbad's sanity was not completely lost. "But you know better than anyone how well I treat my pawns."

"As a matter of fact," Ja'far replied with a sneer, "you seem to treat your enemies just as well."

Ѻ

It was the middle of the night. Judal was oscillating between a pained half-sleep and a more pronounced comatose state. He was always tired these days. He blamed the constant pain for his new inability to fully fall asleep, yet he was still too stubbornly proud to ask for a sleeping draught or a narcotic. Not that the stupid healers' drugs dulled the relentless maddening throbbing of his bones, but it would be nice not having to deal with it for a few hours.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Without any coherent reason, he was wide awake, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

He listened intently for a clue as to what had awoken him like that. There was nothing wrong, of course, but he could still not shake the ominous feeling that _something_ was in the room with him.

His right ear caught a low rustle – so low that it might have been his imagination – like cloth lightly caressing cloth.

"Who's there?" he whispered in the dark.

His words shattered the peaceful atmosphere, giving the silence a weight of its own as nothing whispered back. The absolute, almost ominous, stillness of the room evoked in his mind the image of invisible hunters in the shadows of the pre-dawn hours. He listened intently for a few minutes and, hearing absolutely nothing, decided to blame a nightmare. He was drifting back to sleep when the rustle came back, louder.

A jolt of adrenaline surged through his body, waking the dull pain in his limbs.

"Who's…"

At the sound of his voice, the rustle abruptly stopped.

Judal swallowed nervously. He waited some more, tensely hoping for some confirmation that he had dreamed or that there was a bird or a rat – any kind of rational explanation, really.

Then, sounding so much louder than it was in the small silent room, erupted a metallic sound, steel slowly rubbed against steel. It took only a few seconds for his mind to provide the gut-wrenching, sickening sound with the image of two blades being slowly sharpened against each other.

"Who's there?" he tried to ask again, but the words formed by his lips were soundless.

The metallic sound started again, not even a few inches from his right ear.

"Stop," Judal murmured, his dead eyes rolling in their darkness. "Please stop."

The sound stopped.

He waited for minutes that felt like hours.

"Are you… still there?" he eventually whispered in the heavy silence, scared of being alone, and even more scared that the other could still be there.

It took him a few seconds to realize that something was touching him.

It was cold and sharp, only grazing the sensitive skin under his jaw, barely painful, but horrifyingly threatening.

It was a blade against his throat.

"Don't," he pleaded, too frightened to even think about calling for help, "please don't hurt me."

The blade kept its slow trailing, descending to his collarbone, his sternum, then his chest…

 _"You don't look very powerful right now, magi…"_

He could not tell if the slithery whisper in his ear was his torturer speaking, or a product of his terrified mind.

"Please…"

The cold blade halted between two of his ribs, poked a bit deeper and he yelped weakly at the sharp sting of pain.

 _"So weak,"_ the dark voice sneered, _"so pathetic…"_

"Stop… No, oh gods, please…" The blade moved again, tracing a crossing pattern on his stomach. "Please stop, stop it…"

 _"How should I hurt you?"_

A sob escaped his throat. It was too much, just too much to handle; the constant pain of the rukh and now this? His barely composed façade shattered into pieces and tears welled up in his unseeing eyes.

"Don't… don't hurt me, please… don't…"

 _"Why not?"_ the voice asked as the cold blade teased the side of his throat. _"You're so weak… so pathetic…"_

"Please…" he whined.

 _"It would be easy, so easy…"_

The blade kept trailing his body, sometimes stopping, always coming back, until he was a nothing more than a terrified sobbing mess.

He did not even notice when the other eventually stopped. He kept begging and crying until exhaustion hushed his pleas and a merciful unconsciousness claimed him.

Ѻ

In the dead of the night, a satisfied grin on his lips, Ja'far walked back to his rooms.

Ѻ

Judal woke up, biting back a scream. He could not remember what the nightmare – it had to have been one – had been about, but the mindless fear had followed him into his waking hour. Burying every trace of it in the back of his mind, he forced his breath to slow to a less painful rhythm.

It took him at least an hour to do so, but he eventually settled back into his usual boring routine of listening to the distant sounds of the palace.

Eventually, the sound of Aladdin's footsteps announced the end of his boredom at the hands of a pestering brat. As the door of his room opened slowly, he greeted the young magi with a deeply annoyed sigh.

"So, you're here again," he grumbled as the child sat next to him.

This time, Judal did not even bother ordering him to leave. Aladdin did not listen anyway, so why waste his breath?

"Hello, Judal," the young magi chirped happily. "How are you doing today?"

"Wonderful," he grumbled, "we should take a walk and have a picnic."

"I don't know for the walk," Aladdin replied, oblivious to the sarcasm, "but we could go and have lunch in the gardens. I'm sure you'll feel all relaxed if you're outside for a bit!"

Judal wished he could properly roll his eyes.

"Shut up. I don't want to."

"But you said…"

"I don't want to and that's final."

"Oh. Okay. We can still go if you change your mind."

He faced away from the voice.

"Leave me alone."

"I won't. I'll make sure you're not alone anymore."

"Great," he grumbled, "never alone."

Aladdin chuckled, and he could not repress the faint stretching of his lips. Idiot brat.

"So, is there anything do you want to do today?"

"Yes, I want to go fly around the island and freeze the sea for a bit. And kill things."

"Um, I'm not sure we're allowed to do that."

"Like you could."

"I'm not very good with water, so I guess not."

"A magi should be good at every type of magic," he grumbled back. That had been drilled into his skull every hour of every day.

"Are you? I thought you only used ice…"

"Of course, I am! I just prefer water magic, that's all. But I could fry you with fire or lightning, if you want me to prove my point."

"I'll just take your word for it. Can you do life magic?"

"I know all the spells," he mumbled, vaguely embarrassed. "I haven't had much training in healing."

Black rukh made offensive spells easier, but healing? It did not come naturally.

Aladdin hummed.

"Me neither."

He scoffed.

"I get the impression that you haven't had much training in anything."

"That's not really wrong," the brat conceded. "You could teach me, though?"

"No."

"Why not? It would be something to do."

"I'm not _that_ bored," he retorted. "And I hate you."

"I don't."

He twitched.

"Like I care."

"Maybe you don't. But I want you to know that… I forgive you. For what happened with Ugo. I don't hate you."

His chest felt tight, and he could not tell why.

"If you're expecting me to forgive your djinn for crushing my body, you're gonna be disappointed."

"I'm not-…" There was a deep sigh. "Why are you trying to make me mad at you? We could be friends."

"Hah. No. I don't think there'll ever be one thing we can agree on."

"The sky is blue."

"Nope," he retorted with a smirk. "It's black. Like everything, these days."

"That's… that's just because your eyes don't work!"

"What tells me the world did not lose all light? You? Why should I believe anything you say?"

New sigh. Judal wondered how much more annoying he needed to be to drive Aladdin insane.

"Maybe that was a bad example," the brat said after a pause. "What about… When people you care about are happy, it makes you happy."

That one was easy.

"I don't care about anyone."

"But you said you had friends," Aladdin retorted. "You can't have friends and not care about them!"

"I guess that's another thing we disagree on."

He wished he could have shrugged for emphasis.

"You… You're trying to make me mad again. But that's okay. I don't know why you're doing it, but it's alright. I'm not going to leave just because you're acting mean."

There was a small warmth in his chest, and he scowled.

"Oh, great, no way to make you leave, and I can't even stick my fingers in my ears to drown out the preaching."

"I'm not preaching."

"You are, and it's annoying. 'Oh, people are nice, we should all be _friends_ , why don't we _trust_ each other?' It's pathetic."

"I know you're mocking me, but the world could really be a better place, if everyone tried a little bit. Nothing big. A small act of kindness can go really far."

"How many people have you actually converted to your goody-two-shoes view of the world?"

The new heavy sigh lifted his mood a bit.

"I simply ask that people act the way their heart feel is right," Aladdin said. "And you'd be surprised how often I get it."

He pondered at the brat's assurance for a few moments.

"Your whole 'saving my rukh thing' it's cute but it's not going to work. I'm evil, just give it up."

"I'm not giving up," Aladdin declared. "Never. As long as there's life, there's hope."

"I don't believe in hope."

"You're talking to me; that's worth something."

He rolled his eyes as best as he could.

"Believe me, I'd _love_ to just ignore you, but you're awfully persistent."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I'll take it as one."

Judal did not add anything and there was a long pause.

It was a surprisingly peaceful silence, the magi thought idly, without the usual tension that being in anyone's presence brought these days. After a few minutes, Aladdin began humming softly to himself. The tune was soothing and strangely familiar, although Judal could not have settled on where he had heard it before.

"You really think I…" he began and abruptly stopped, confusedly feeling that finishing the question would be admitting to something he could not dare to admit.

"I'm sure of it," Aladdin replied with absolute confidence.

He turned his face away. The problem with trying things is that it opened the way to failure.

"Well, I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Lots of reasons."

"Why?" Aladdin repeated gently.

Judal did not answer at first, but the brat did not add anything, and the silence stretched on. With a sigh he gave up:

"Well, first off, black rukh is a lot more powerful than white rukh."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course, I'm sure!" he exclaimed. "I tested the two. I know what I'm talking about."

"Then why could I win against you?"

"You got lucky."

"Twice? And, I've gotten a lot stronger in Magnostadt."

"I'd still kick your butt."

"Maybe," Aladdin conceded, "but you could do it with white rukh, too."

"Of course, I could!" he snapped. "But I'll stick to my preference. Depravity is more fun."

"Is it?"

The question was solemn.

"Yes," he replied, slightly unsettled, and wished again he could properly roll his eyes. "It is."

There was a short pause and he wondered if he should add something to prove his point, but Aladdin spoke before he could:

"From what I see, depravity hasn't done you much good. You don't look like you're having a lot of fun."

"Not right now, idiot. It's just a … a temporary setback. And it didn't happen because I'm evil anyway."

"Then why did it happen?" Again, with that insufferable sincerity. "Sinbad said it was Al-Thamen who hurt you. Do you know why they did that?"

Judal stayed silent.

"I don't know if all of Al-Thamen is evil," Aladdin continued softly, "or if you can really call someone evil, I don't think it's as easily divided as black rukh and white rukh. But I know that someone needs to be really mean to hurt someone else like you were hurt and not even tell them the reason for it."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he muttered. "And I don't need to be told, when it's obvious."

"It is? Then why did they do that to you?"

"Rituals are there to make me more powerful."

"You don't look very powerful right now."

He froze.

The horror of the previous night stirred in his stomach. The mind-numbing terror that had him still shivering when he had woken, the nightmarish _feel_ of the blurry memories, it all crashed over him.

 _"You don't look very powerful right now, magi…"_

"Judal? Are you-"

"Shut up!" he hissed. "Go away! I hate you!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-…"

The taste of fear in his mouth.

 _"So weak…"_

"Just _shut up_!" he snarled. "Stop talking to me and leave me alone! I _don't_ want to talk to you! I _don't_ want to be your fucking friend, I _hate_ you! I want to _kill_ you! All of your fucking pathetic little _friends_ too, you can all die!" He heard the hasty retreat of feet on carpets and the rushed closing of a door. "Go away from me! Go away and _die_!"

His screams died down to a painful heavy panting and he dazedly realized that the corners of his eyes were wet.

A part of him wanted to curse and yell, but the rest only felt numb.

 _"So weak,"_ snickered the dark voice in his mind, _"so pathetic…"_

Ѻ

Evening had come again, and the palace was silent. Not a gust of wind disturbed the quiet atmosphere, not a sound so much as shivered into the peaceful night.

"Please," Judal murmured to the cold silence, "don't hurt me."

No blade teased his skin. No rustle of cloth or sound of sharpening metal clued him of any foreign presence in the room.

There was no one to scare him in the quiet darkness.

There was no one, yet, between inaudible sobs and cries, he kept begging for the dark presence to have mercy.

"Please go away," he whispered, shutting his eyelids to stop the tears. "Why won't you go away?"

Sleep was long to come.

Ѻ

Aladdin did not come back the next morning and Judal, not really surprised, spent his waking moments sulking about his words and how he _absolutely_ _meant_ everything he had screamed at the kid.

Considering the numerous times he had told the obnoxious child to leave him alone, he thought he should feel more relief at the sudden peace.

Sinbad only visited once – apparently, his insufferable little advisor was keeping a close eye on him – and Judal's mood, soured by his lack of sleep, made him less than pleasant to deal with. He spent most of the day napping or absentmindedly listening to the hushed voice of the palace.

His angry words kept circling his mind.

Aladdin did not show up the following day or the day after and, when night came once again, and the young magi had yet to make an appearance, Judal began thinking – between his cries and pleas in the dark – that he might have made a mistake.

It took another two days of silence for him to grow worried that the kid might never show up again. He was then irritated at himself because he was _not_ going to be _worried_ about Aladdin.

He asked Sinbad if the kid had left Sindria – too tired to keep pretending he did not remembered the country's name – and was informed that, no, Aladdin was still there, had been playing in the gardens with his friends, in fact.

The tendrils of guilt that had begun creeping in his conscience vanished under a spewing rage that had the king backing away from the temper tantrum. But the anger died down as quickly as it had been roused.

Judal remained in his bed, the silent darkness around him highlighting his seclusion and leaving him with an indistinct emptiness and a niggling sense of… betrayal.

Ѻ

Sinbad looked around the palace gardens, his eyes roaming over the lush flowers for the unmistakable blue of a young magi's hair. He strolled to him, when he spotted the kid quietly sitting with his friends, under the shade of a palm tree. Alibaba and Aladdin greeted him with a cheerful wave and Morgiana, less demonstrative, simply nodded at him. The gesture was so reminiscent of Masrur that he grinned.

"Aladdin?" he asked, regaining his seriousness. "May I have a word with you?"

Without waiting for the kid's answer, he began walking away, letting the sounds and smells of the gardens soothe his tension.

"Can I help you with anything?" Aladdin offered when he had caught up with his long strides.

"Judal has asked me about you," he informed the child while observing him from the corner of his eye. "He wanted to know if you had left the country."

A shadow passed over Aladdin's face, too fast for Sinbad to analyze it.

"I see." The reply was grave. "What did you tell him?"

"That you had spent the day playing with your friends. He was considerably upset after that."

An understatement. Sinbad had gotten around a lot and he had still been amazed by the quantity – and creativity – of the curses Judal had spouted at him.

"Aladdin," he cautiously began, "I do not want to question your methods, but…" _but I am,_ "…are you certain that ignoring him is the best way to go?"

"I'm not ignoring him," Aladdin replied softly, so softly that Sinbad had to strain to hear it, "it's just… I can't let him tell me he wants me to die and not react."

Sinbad controlled the urge to immediately demand the full story – Aladdin was not Ja'far – and composed his features into a sympathetic mask.

"You realize, I hope, that Judal is very frustrated by his condition and probably did not mean whatever he told you."

"He meant it," Aladdin replied tonelessly, bending to pick up a flower from a bush. "At least when he spoke, he meant every word." Crouched to the ground, the young magi seemed lost in the contemplation of the pale blue petals. "He probably doesn't want me to die now, but he still meant it at some point."

"He seemed almost desperate to hear that you were still around," Sinbad coaxed, sitting down next to the child. "Are you still angry with him?"

"Angry?" Aladdin repeated, seemingly lost in thought. "Yes, you're right. I think I'm angry at him." He let the flower escape from his hand. "That's a good thing you mentioned it," he added after a short silence. "I might have confused it with fear."

"You're afraid of Judal?" Sinbad asked, skeptical. "But he's…"

"Not a threat?" Aladdin shrugged. "I'm not afraid of what he might do to me. I'm afraid of the memories he might remind me of. And… I guess I'm also a bit afraid of failing."

"If it is any help, I have the same fear. I don't want to fail him."

Ѻ

 **I'm not sure how to write Aladdin, to be honest. He's such a weird character. My interpretation is that he's wise, but innocent (in that he doesn't really** ** _know_** **much). So he makes mistakes.**

 **Ja'far is a wonderful character, I love writing him. He's just so spiteful.**

 **Hope you enjoyed, feedback is, as usual, much appreciated.**

 **I noticed a few problems with chapter 4, so I'll have a good chunk of it to rewrite. Don't expect it before next friday (and I'm also going to focus on my other stories, which might delay this one)**


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